


Paper Football

by imbeccacile



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), avengers endgame - Fandom
Genre: DONT READ IF YOU HAVENT WATCHED, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Major Endgame Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 23:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18648028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbeccacile/pseuds/imbeccacile
Summary: He taught her paper football. Why did this small game mean so much?





	Paper Football

**Author's Note:**

> endgame spoilers you have been warned!!!!  
> Nebula is just really sad.

This was a feeling Nebula was sort of used to.

 

Loss? She’d had her fair share of it. Pain? Pretty much all the time.

 

But this pain was different. It was raw and it ate at her chest instead of her head, which was the kind of pain she was used to. No amount of torture could equate to this.

 

It was so  _ frustrating _ that she could scream.

 

This was...close to the feeling she felt when her father returned home without Gamora. The rage brewing within her was more prominent, but that chest pain she felt was certainly there. And usually with that chest pain came the pricking in her eyes, but she’d been so focused on stopping her father that she didn’t have time to cry.

 

And then, Gamora was brought back. From the past, of course, but she was alive, and willing to be her sister again. So it was fine.

 

Except it wasn’t.

 

For three weeks, Nebula sat in a broken spaceship, trying to fix it with Stark. They managed to do well together.

 

He was a good man, which she could tell from the first hour of being with him.

 

She was aware that she was different; that her life is not the life that many people have or deserve. She knew now that her upbringing was not normal, and she was missing love from her life.

 

But Stark? He had love. Sure, maybe it wasn’t family, maybe it was. She didn’t really know. But she knew he cared. He cared too much. The sight of his face after everyone disappeared on Titan was enough to show her that.

 

And yet, despite being burdened down by the weight of their colossal loss, he wiped away his tears, got up, and showed her kindness. His voice was quiet and broken, but he still tried to look like he was okay even when he couldn’t stand on his own, he was white as paper, and tear stains were clear through the dirt on his face.

 

He had shown her some of the most infuriatingly genuine kindness she had ever received in her life. Gamora was kind to her, after they made up. But this was different. Stark knew she needed it. As much as she hated to admit it then, they needed each other.

 

So Nebula helped heal his wound, and they both repaired the ship, and he taught her jokes she wouldn’t understand, but they listened to each other and every now and then, she’d say something and it would make him smile. It made her feel one of the best feelings she thought she had ever felt.

 

It was in her chest, but it was good, instead of pain. She wanted to feel it more. She associated that feeling with Stark. 

 

This was the kind of person a father was supposed to be. Not cold, not unforgiving and tortuous like her own. No. Kind, forgiving, funny, patient...all words to describe Stark, and the kind of person she wished she had. 

 

Whenever she thought about this on the ship, he’d tease her and ask if she was running out of oxygen, because her eyes were out of focus. She wouldn’t laugh, but she did find it funny. He could get her mind off of everything that had happened.

 

He taught her how to play paper football, as he called it. It took a long time for Nebula to understand the goal of the game.

 

“It’s based on a game we play on Earth,” Stark had said, showing her the paper triangle. “All you gotta do is flick it through my hands, like this.” He reached over, moving her hands so that her elbows lay on the table and her fingers touched. If anyone else had touched her, she would have flung them across the room. But she simply stared at Stark, possibly glaring a little. He flicked it through her arms perfectly.

 

Confused and almost alarmed, she stared down at the little paper triangle on the table, quickly picking it up to glare at it.

 

“Now flick it.”

 

Nebula looked up, frowning, but imitated exactly what he did. She flicked it too far and it hit him in the face.

 

He made a little grunt as it hit his nose, falling into his open palm. He didn’t get angry. His eyebrows rose and then he laughed, a sound she wasn’t used to in the slightest. It was pleasant. She enjoyed hearing it much more than she thought she would. 

 

That was why they played many times. And after a couple of rounds, she ended up winning. 

 

“That’s a goal! You win!” Stark had said, leaving her dumbfounded. What did it really mean, to win a stupid little game like this? And why did it make her feel  _ good _ ?

 

Nebula found herself worrying those three weeks, which is something she had never done for anyone but herself. But when they floated through space, waiting for oxygen to run out, she wanted to protect him so badly.

 

She was broken, and so was he. But while she had let that eat at her, he was only kind.

 

So that must be why her chest hurt so bad.

 

She had watched numbly, knowing she should be rejoicing. Her sister was back, Thanos was dead, and everyone who had died in the snap had come back.

 

But at what cost?

 

Well, the one person who encouraged her, who supported her despite only knowing her, truly, for a month, who showed love and kindness, had died. To protect them all. To save them all.

 

The terrible pain in her chest also spread to her gut as she watched Stark’s loved ones fret over him. The child was crying out, saying it would be okay.

 

Nebula knew better.

 

She stood to the side, watching. Stark’s eyes were glossy and it seemed he couldn’t speak. The energy of the infinity stones was too powerful.

 

The familiar sting of tears began in her eyes, but for once in her life, she didn’t try to hold them back. She heard Stark’s wife’s crying turn to sobs, and she knew. Her eyes fluttered shut, and warm tears fell down her cheeks.

 

When she opened them again, she looked at the sky. “Thank you. Tony.” Mantis heard her, but Nebula pushed past her before she could say anything, angry like her usual self again. No one asked about the tears.

 

And,  _ God _ , why were Terran traditions so upsetting? She understood the idea to commemorate the deceased, but it wasn’t fair that even after he had died, she still felt that pain in her chest. She had to fight tears again.

 

People began walking around after the service, trying to lighten the mood, because it’s what Tony would have wanted.

 

Nebula didn’t want to talk to any of these people. None of the other Guardians came, but they allowed her to. They would pick her and Thor up soon, but for now she had to try not to cry while she waited.

 

She sat on the now empty porch, watching everyone else walk around, talk, and hug each other.

 

Leaning on the table, she huffed, feeling the breeze. With it brought a stray napkin, which landed gracefully on the table in front of her.

 

Blinking, without thinking, she took it and folded it. She kept folding, which was difficult because her hands shook. But she finished, and it was a perfect triangle.

 

Swallowing hard, she flicked it, and it landed on the other end of the table. She remembered Stark’s grin perfectly.

 

But Nebula didn’t really get to dwell on it, because she felt a small tap on her shoulder. Turning fast, she didn’t resist the urge to grab the stranger’s wrist for touching her.

 

It was Stark’s daughter. She didn’t look very scared of her, which was strange.

 

She let go, anger returning to her, which she gladly preferred over grieving. “What do you want?”

 

“My name is Morgan. Daddy really liked you. Mommy said he talked about you sometimes.” The little girl looked proud of herself as she held her hand out. Nebula stared, dumbfounded, because this was something Stark would do. Clenching her jaw, she hesitantly shook the girl’s hand.

 

“Nebula,” she mumbled, numbly.

 

Morgan looked at the napkin, which still sat at the table. “Can you teach me how to do that?” she asked excitedly.

 

Frowning, Nebula grabbed the triangle. “Your father didn’t teach you?”

 

“No. He said it’s special.” She thought for a moment. “He also said I wasn’t old enough.”

 

She blinked, vision suddenly getting very blurry. Finally, she nodded, holding the triangle up. “Here. Flick it.”

 

The two stayed there for a long while, and Nebula stayed patient. Because she learned from the best paper football player in the world. And she would train Morgan to be the next. 

  
  



End file.
